Being escorted under heavy guard through the palace, the party notices the guards are on edge and the castle grounds at battle-ready. The party soon finds themselves in the large office used for civil work. One of the guards escorting the party says, "Wait here for further instructions.", and then softly closes the chamber door. You each pull out the missive for your summons from the Adventures Guild which reads:
"Your presence is hereby commanded before the king's magistrate in the city Dawncrest.
You will be aided by your fellow guild members for this quest.
Report with upmost haste to the royal court for an audience with Magistrate Rembrandt.
Sincerely,
Your Grumpy Guildmaster with the bloody large axe!"
P.S. We (and you) will be paid ALOT of gold. DO NOT BOTCH THIS QUEST!!!
The office is richly furnished with vibrant drapes and polished wooden bookshelves filled with beautiful tomes and strange arcane reagents. A large polished oak desk with a comfy purple plush chair is set facing the doorway. The room also has a large bay window with frilled pillowed seating, overlooking the castle gardens.
Seamus - Druid - The flowers and other plants in the gardens look well taken care of and happy.
Eilynn, Seamus, Mugun, Brmys,and Inge notice certain objects around the room that stand out.
Eilynn sees an old picture within a decorated frame.
Seamus is mesmerized by a large beautiful ruby-red plume feather under a protective glass cover.
Mugun notices a familiar-looking signet ring on the desk.
Brmys and Inge notice a strange bag also on the desk. Brmys can tell it has some enchantment to it from his years of arcane study; Inge has seen one of her clan elders with such a bag.
Mugun makes a quick circle of the elegant office, letting out an appreciative whistle. His thumbs are tucked in the studded belt that clasps around his plum-colored brigandine. His fine clothes and armor were freshly laundered and polished for this meeting, making them look almost brand new again. Almost. His face is cleanly shaven, his thick black hair coiffured and shining. His tusks are filed down to neat, pure white points. His dark leather riding boots are so polished one could see one's own reflection in them. He's clearly taking this meeting very seriously.
He looks down at the desk for a closer examination of the signet ring, though careful not to touch anything or risk knocking anything over with the scabbard of his sword. He says "Whenever the Baron would get a missive with THAT seal on it, the whole estate would go on high alert. The Baron would lock himself in his office the rest of the night drafting the reply and we'd get the cane if we so much as sneezed in the house. I dare say, chaps, we're in the big show now, aren't we?"
Brymys studies the room with a tiny smile on his face. The well cared for books speaks to him and he walks over to the bookshelves. He pulls down a book and begins reading. Out of the corner of his eyes he notices an enchanted bag. He almost picks it up when he heard Mugun speak. Its probably best not to touch it. Brymys reluctantly returns the book. He whispers "I could stay here for hours reading. Maybe another time" He pulls up his scarf to cover half his face and patiently waits.
Brymys is wearing a dark blue gambeson with leather buckles and boots. He is also fond of wearing his speckled white scarf. A combination of practicality and a pleasing look.
Eilynn carefully observes the luxurious room, pacing slowly through the office while she takes in the overly lavish decorations that adorned the place. The silvery veil that carefully guards her eyes fails to hide the scorn that curls the corners of her lips into a smirk as she eyes the frilled cushions on the bay window.
Her long silver cloak flutters behind her as she walks, reflecting light making the metallic thread dance with each step. Underneath the cloak she wears a dress of a darker grey, adorned by a brown belt circling her waist. The skirt splits at each leg, allowing easy movement and revealing the black pants and leather boots she wears beneath. Pointed ears peek out from glossy black hair that falls to her hips, carefully braided away from her face, but otherwise left free, giving the half-elf a regal appearance that suited her private demeanour.
Something catches Eilynn’s eye, and she comes to a stop before an old picture. The images yellowing paper betrayed it’s own age, making it appear out of place compared to the plush furniture that filled the office. She trails her pale fingers along the ornate frame, tracing its decorative grooves as she observes the picture inside. Hand still resting on the frame, the cleric turns back towards the others, most of whom appeared to be admiring their own expensive trinket. “I wonder how much this is all worth," she muses quietly, a statement aimed more at herself than her companions.
The itch in Inge Stonechild's shoulder feels like a feral hill dog gnawing at a bone.
She longs to scratch it furiously like a madwoman, and she surely would have with gusto, were she not here. In this place. Surrounded by all of this ridiculous finery. Inge shifts her weight yet again and pivots the grip on her glaive, finding it difficult to be as supremely confident in her own skin as she normally is. Here. In an... office. Hardly a place for a mountain clanswoman, and an orphan at that. She had only begun to become accustomed to Dawncrest, or even the concept of what a capital city is. Now it is time to meet some obsidian-tongued king's magistrate...
Still, Inge looks around curiously at her companions. She must have seen one or two of them before, even as new to the Adventurer's Guild as she is. Never one for faces, though, Inge. Nor names. In time, she would mentally bestow them all their own nicknames. Just as she had for all the clan legends she had devoured from the elders. Legends of the ancestors, who walked with the wisdom of the sky and the strength of the mountains. Wielding mighty polearms and holding a bag of...
What is that strange bag there, and what in the name of the ancient mothers and fathers is in it? It looks eerily familiar and she recalls the elder that had born a similar odd item on the day she departed. Inge remembers vividly the advice that this particular elder had given before sending her off.
Any journey worth embarking on is, in the end, a journey to find a piece of your own soul.
Inge chews her lip and screws up her broad face, thinking about that, rolling her neck and stretching to her full height. Hardly a giant by the standards of her clan's warriors, and a half-elf to boot, she nevertheless stands well over six feet of solid polearm-wielding muscle. But it had always been her technique and her perseverance, and her trust in the legends that had gotten her through, and would again.
That and her off hand, nonchalantly sneaking up and across to her shoulder, slipping like a ferret under her auburn hair to scratch that damn itch...
Seamusshambles along, keeping mostly silent, observing and listening to his companions and the guards with the same impartial, inquisitive eye he would use to examine a strange new species of woodland creature. A smile and a sigh of pleasure escape his lips as they pass by the castle gardens, obviously tended by a loving hand. The smile disappears as they enter long halls of barren stone, devoid of greenery. Of course, he has slept in the odd cave or three in his years of wandering, but they always felt connected to the natural world just outside, whereas these artificial structures feel to his senses like black voids in the otherwise glowing life-energy he can sense all around him.
The firbolg druid plods along silently, hood up, gripping his beloved darkwood staff "Aislinn" until they arrive at the office. Immediately, his attention is drawn to a glass case. In all of the deadness around him, something in this case radiates vital force. He pulls back his hood and crosses to the display, reverently gazing at the feather plume.
The entire situation set Garron Rey on edge. Usually meetings in offices or rooms as lavish as this one meant that a contract would be passed along or gold would exchanged hands after the job was complete. But those days were long gone. Now settings such as this could mean much more. Capture. A criminal could only run for so long after all. Hopefully the gods saw it fit to keep the assassin’s true identity a secret. At least for a bit longer.
Cold eyes watched his companions move about the office from under the hood of his worn leather armor, arms folded and his back against the wall next to the entrance to the room. ”I’d wager the big show isn’t as fun as it sounds, Mugun.”Garron explained in a raspy voice as his right hand dropped and fiddled with his rapier’s hilt idly. The guild master’s missive was the only thing about this entire situation that didn’t set the man on edge. The grumpy bastard was nothing but loyal to the guild. ”But a summons like this means rather large amounts gold and I doubt anyone in this room is a position to turn that down.”He chuckled darkly to himself and continued to watch the others while they waited on whomever this office belonged to.
Garron whistled lightly in Eilynn’s direction to get her attention. ”More than we see in years I’d imagine. I don’t recommend touching anything else, royals can be a bit... fickle when it comes to their belongs.”
Without turning, Seamus murmurs, "Gold? Gold is an illusion. A trick. A convenient lie told by 'civilized' people to each other to create unnecessary strife. It deceives those who buy and sell to think that they have 'ownership' over field, forest, and mountain. Gold obscures the truth that, like the sky and the sea, the land 'belongs' to everyone. Gold corrupts us into thinking that those who have it deserve to eat, and those who do not deserve to die. The truth is that the natural world will provide food, shelter and raiment to any who know where to look, the only price being that you take no more than you need to survive."
He turns. "Surely you will respond, 'Then why are you here, druid? If nature is so grand and gold so corrupt, what are you doing in the guild?' My answer is, while mother Earth is adept at sustaining life, often she cannot defend herself against the avarice and covetousness of those seeking riches. They pillage her forests, mine her mountains, dam her rivers, and lay waste all around them. The only way I know to divert that overwhelming force is to convince it to take easy gold from my hand and save the effort and expense required to exploit the wild lands further."
"I do not judge you personally for your addiction to this glittering drug. The rot began long ago, and is too deeply rooted for most to even notice."
"Seamus," Mugun says with a tone of utter bewilderment. "I'm glad you've gotten that out of your system now so that you don't feel the need to bring it up again in front of Magistrate Rembrandt."
Turning to Garron, Mugun continues "Both of you, please. Dispense with the cynicism for just a COUPLE hours. We're in the Royal Palace, about to do a favor for the king himself! This may be a once in a lifetime opportunity for all of us. Buck up!"
Garroncouldn’t help but snort derisively at Seamus as he expressed his views on gold and it’s grip on todays society. Of course, the Druid was right in a sense. Physical currency ruled the day and most likely always would. Garron Rey just didn’t care. Put a plump sack of gold in his hand and the world was right, exactly the way it should be. ”You can have your sticks and dirt, Seamus.. I’ll stick with the gold.”Banter had never been one of his strong suites. For that matter, being social at all wasn’t but this group had been around each for a while, toed the line alongside one another on multiple occasions. Even the most cold hearted adventurers fell victim to at least a slight feeling of camaraderie. Garron just wasn’t going to admit it out loud.
The assassin pushed himself from the wall and brushed past Mugun to lounge lazily on the window’s cushioned seal. ”Forgive me for not trembling in my boots with excitement because a magistrate has decided we are worthy of his presence, Mugun.” Garron dropped his hood and brushed a few strands of his dark hair out his pale face. ”Besides, I believe you are exuberant enough for us all.” He explained with a hint of a grin before looking out over the gardens below.
Inge continues scratching her shoulder laconically, trying to understand the conversation. So little made sense among these "civilized" folk.
Why would Seamus have gotten his love of nature "out of his system" as Mugun hoped? No amount of talking about it was going to take away the fact that Seamus loves nature, Mugun loves the nobility, Garron loves gold, Inge loves her ancestral teachings, Brymys seems to love books and Eilynn loves... well Inge isn't exactly sure what. Something mysterious, no doubt.
She shifts the grip on her glaive once more and closes her eyes, reaching for the wisdom of her clan elders, solid as the stone of the mountains.
"It is well we are different from each other. A mountain village does not survive if populated by only weavers or only hunters, only war chiefs or only elders, only shamans or only builders. Such is the way of nature that Seamus loves so. All things, and all people have a purpose."
Briefly, Inge seems uncertain. Was that all really true? What was her purpose here. She still wasn't exactly sure, she realizes...
Eilynn: The picture shows a group of friends from a time before the Demon Wars. From left to right: a laughing high elf female with blonde hair and silver eyes embracing a high elf male with silver hair with golden eyes with an annoyed expression. A laughing young human male with light brown hair with his eyes closed draping his arm around a smirking young human female with black hair and blue eyes. Encircling everyone in a group-hug with a gleeful expression is a young female of an unknown race. Instead of hair, she has a plumage full of beautiful red feathers, sharp humanoid facial features, and emerald green eyes. A large six-inch plume curled backward crests atop her brow. History - 11
You're not sure who any of these people are. However, the feather Seamus is looking at looks like the one on the woman's head in the middle of the photo.
"Pardon, my tardiness. I was attending to a matter most dire.", says a voice with deep regal authority. All eyes turn to a slightly below average height (5'8') high elf with a slim muscular build as he enters the room and closes the door behind him. He is dressed in blueish-green robes laced with golden thread encrusted with finely cut gemstones; over a royal-red tunic. A golden circlet with a small emerald is placed upon his brow over his long silver hair. The elf's attire is not so much gaudy, (as Garron and Mugun have seen by some nobles), but more of a uniform of ruling status. His golden eyes study the party for a moment, then waves his hand. Two pillowed armchairs and a mid-size sofa are magical summon from the ether with enough comfortable seating for everyone as he makes his way to the seat behind the desk.
"I am Rembrandt, the Magistrate of Dawncrest and Supreme Archmage to High King Ruslan. I have called each of you here to...," he pauses for a moment and places a hand on his sweaty brow to steady himself. Seamus and Eilynn can see he looks exhausted. Brymys has seen this type of exhaustion before: spell fatigue. Rembrandt opens a draw his desk and produces a large blue potion and a small silver bell. With a ring, a castle servant enters with a pitcher of spiced wine and water. Goblets are filled and placed before the party along with a tray of fresh fruits and cheeses.
"Thank you, Maggie. You are too kind.",Rembrant says as he dismisses the young woman. He pours the potion into his wine and drinks deeply.
"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Magistrate,"Mugun says, bowing in a manner appropriate to a man of Rembrandt's station. Coincidentally, the bow also serves to put directly at the Magistrate's eye-level the broach he wears, depicting the chivalric symbol of House Fonelle, a white gryphon with plum-purple wings. "I am Sir Mugun Bahbalen, at your service."
He waits for Rembrandt to sit before sitting himself, as is appropriate when dining with one's betters.
Brymys recognizes the signs of spell fatigue on the Magistrate. He takes his time taking his seat to allow the restorative effects of the potion to take effect. In a soft tone he says "My name is Brymys Nailo. Please take your time, I know how tiring it is to expend that much magical force."
Garron follows the magistrate across the room with his eyes, never leaving his seat in the window seal with arms folded. It was almost as if the assassin had a air of boredom to him. A nod was the only response Rembrandt’s introduction. Silence was best at a time like this. The quicker the magistrate got to the point of their summons the quicker Garron could vacate the premises and find some dark corner in a tavern to drink in.
"Well met Sir Mugun Bahbalen, I hope your lord and his family are in good health."Rembrandt gives a respectful nod. "Brymis...,"Rembrandt taps his chin thoughtfully, "Brymis Nailo, yes, I remember. You've attended one of my lectures at the Academy. I recall you were a student with quite high marks.", He then turns to Seamus, "My, my, it has been a long time since I've met a "guardian of the woods". My apologies for the accommodation, Good Shephard Seamus.Inge Stonechild, Garron Rey, and Eilynn Ravanen I extend my welcome to each of you as well."
"Now before we proceed any further, your party must sign an MNDA (Magical Non-Disclosure Agreement, Garron is all too familiar with these in assassination contracts) due to the secrecy of this quest.",Rembrandt says as he pulls out a large document scroll from his desk. "This binding contract will not allow any of you to speak about any aspect of this quest's purpose or kingdom-sensitive locations you may visit. If you try to, even unknowingly, the magic in the contract will silence you. Even writing will not work."
"All I can say before you sign is that each of you will be given a choice: to be paid in the amount of1,000 platinum piecesor be given a Royal Boon." (A wish that can be granted by a king, some farmland with a house, royal pardon, or increased noble status)."
Rembrandt slides his pen and ink well over and points at the bottom of the paper, "Sign here on the dotted line.".
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Part 1: Long Live the King.
Being escorted under heavy guard through the palace, the party notices the guards are on edge and the castle grounds at battle-ready. The party soon finds themselves in the large office used for civil work. One of the guards escorting the party says, "Wait here for further instructions.", and then softly closes the chamber door. You each pull out the missive for your summons from the Adventures Guild which reads:
The office is richly furnished with vibrant drapes and polished wooden bookshelves filled with beautiful tomes and strange arcane reagents. A large polished oak desk with a comfy purple plush chair is set facing the doorway. The room also has a large bay window with frilled pillowed seating, overlooking the castle gardens.
Seamus - Druid - The flowers and other plants in the gardens look well taken care of and happy.
Eilynn, Seamus, Mugun, Brmys, and Inge notice certain objects around the room that stand out.
Eilynn sees an old picture within a decorated frame.
Seamus is mesmerized by a large beautiful ruby-red plume feather under a protective glass cover.
Mugun notices a familiar-looking signet ring on the desk.
Brmys and Inge notice a strange bag also on the desk. Brmys can tell it has some enchantment to it from his years of arcane study; Inge has seen one of her clan elders with such a bag.
Mugun makes a quick circle of the elegant office, letting out an appreciative whistle. His thumbs are tucked in the studded belt that clasps around his plum-colored brigandine. His fine clothes and armor were freshly laundered and polished for this meeting, making them look almost brand new again. Almost. His face is cleanly shaven, his thick black hair coiffured and shining. His tusks are filed down to neat, pure white points. His dark leather riding boots are so polished one could see one's own reflection in them. He's clearly taking this meeting very seriously.
He looks down at the desk for a closer examination of the signet ring, though careful not to touch anything or risk knocking anything over with the scabbard of his sword. He says "Whenever the Baron would get a missive with THAT seal on it, the whole estate would go on high alert. The Baron would lock himself in his office the rest of the night drafting the reply and we'd get the cane if we so much as sneezed in the house. I dare say, chaps, we're in the big show now, aren't we?"
Brymys studies the room with a tiny smile on his face. The well cared for books speaks to him and he walks over to the bookshelves. He pulls down a book and begins reading. Out of the corner of his eyes he notices an enchanted bag. He almost picks it up when he heard Mugun speak. Its probably best not to touch it. Brymys reluctantly returns the book. He whispers "I could stay here for hours reading. Maybe another time" He pulls up his scarf to cover half his face and patiently waits.
Brymys is wearing a dark blue gambeson with leather buckles and boots. He is also fond of wearing his speckled white scarf. A combination of practicality and a pleasing look.
Eilynn carefully observes the luxurious room, pacing slowly through the office while she takes in the overly lavish decorations that adorned the place. The silvery veil that carefully guards her eyes fails to hide the scorn that curls the corners of her lips into a smirk as she eyes the frilled cushions on the bay window.
Her long silver cloak flutters behind her as she walks, reflecting light making the metallic thread dance with each step. Underneath the cloak she wears a dress of a darker grey, adorned by a brown belt circling her waist. The skirt splits at each leg, allowing easy movement and revealing the black pants and leather boots she wears beneath. Pointed ears peek out from glossy black hair that falls to her hips, carefully braided away from her face, but otherwise left free, giving the half-elf a regal appearance that suited her private demeanour.
Something catches Eilynn’s eye, and she comes to a stop before an old picture. The images yellowing paper betrayed it’s own age, making it appear out of place compared to the plush furniture that filled the office. She trails her pale fingers along the ornate frame, tracing its decorative grooves as she observes the picture inside. Hand still resting on the frame, the cleric turns back towards the others, most of whom appeared to be admiring their own expensive trinket. “I wonder how much this is all worth," she muses quietly, a statement aimed more at herself than her companions.
The itch in Inge Stonechild's shoulder feels like a feral hill dog gnawing at a bone.
She longs to scratch it furiously like a madwoman, and she surely would have with gusto, were she not here. In this place. Surrounded by all of this ridiculous finery. Inge shifts her weight yet again and pivots the grip on her glaive, finding it difficult to be as supremely confident in her own skin as she normally is. Here. In an... office. Hardly a place for a mountain clanswoman, and an orphan at that. She had only begun to become accustomed to Dawncrest, or even the concept of what a capital city is. Now it is time to meet some obsidian-tongued king's magistrate...
Still, Inge looks around curiously at her companions. She must have seen one or two of them before, even as new to the Adventurer's Guild as she is. Never one for faces, though, Inge. Nor names. In time, she would mentally bestow them all their own nicknames. Just as she had for all the clan legends she had devoured from the elders. Legends of the ancestors, who walked with the wisdom of the sky and the strength of the mountains. Wielding mighty polearms and holding a bag of...
What is that strange bag there, and what in the name of the ancient mothers and fathers is in it? It looks eerily familiar and she recalls the elder that had born a similar odd item on the day she departed. Inge remembers vividly the advice that this particular elder had given before sending her off.
Any journey worth embarking on is, in the end, a journey to find a piece of your own soul.
Inge chews her lip and screws up her broad face, thinking about that, rolling her neck and stretching to her full height. Hardly a giant by the standards of her clan's warriors, and a half-elf to boot, she nevertheless stands well over six feet of solid polearm-wielding muscle. But it had always been her technique and her perseverance, and her trust in the legends that had gotten her through, and would again.
That and her off hand, nonchalantly sneaking up and across to her shoulder, slipping like a ferret under her auburn hair to scratch that damn itch...
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Seamus shambles along, keeping mostly silent, observing and listening to his companions and the guards with the same impartial, inquisitive eye he would use to examine a strange new species of woodland creature. A smile and a sigh of pleasure escape his lips as they pass by the castle gardens, obviously tended by a loving hand. The smile disappears as they enter long halls of barren stone, devoid of greenery. Of course, he has slept in the odd cave or three in his years of wandering, but they always felt connected to the natural world just outside, whereas these artificial structures feel to his senses like black voids in the otherwise glowing life-energy he can sense all around him.
The firbolg druid plods along silently, hood up, gripping his beloved darkwood staff "Aislinn" until they arrive at the office. Immediately, his attention is drawn to a glass case. In all of the deadness around him, something in this case radiates vital force. He pulls back his hood and crosses to the display, reverently gazing at the feather plume.
The entire situation set Garron Rey on edge. Usually meetings in offices or rooms as lavish as this one meant that a contract would be passed along or gold would exchanged hands after the job was complete. But those days were long gone. Now settings such as this could mean much more. Capture. A criminal could only run for so long after all. Hopefully the gods saw it fit to keep the assassin’s true identity a secret. At least for a bit longer.
Cold eyes watched his companions move about the office from under the hood of his worn leather armor, arms folded and his back against the wall next to the entrance to the room. ”I’d wager the big show isn’t as fun as it sounds, Mugun.” Garron explained in a raspy voice as his right hand dropped and fiddled with his rapier’s hilt idly. The guild master’s missive was the only thing about this entire situation that didn’t set the man on edge. The grumpy bastard was nothing but loyal to the guild. ”But a summons like this means rather large amounts gold and I doubt anyone in this room is a position to turn that down.” He chuckled darkly to himself and continued to watch the others while they waited on whomever this office belonged to.
Garron whistled lightly in Eilynn’s direction to get her attention. ”More than we see in years I’d imagine. I don’t recommend touching anything else, royals can be a bit... fickle when it comes to their belongs.”
Without turning, Seamus murmurs, "Gold? Gold is an illusion. A trick. A convenient lie told by 'civilized' people to each other to create unnecessary strife. It deceives those who buy and sell to think that they have 'ownership' over field, forest, and mountain. Gold obscures the truth that, like the sky and the sea, the land 'belongs' to everyone. Gold corrupts us into thinking that those who have it deserve to eat, and those who do not deserve to die. The truth is that the natural world will provide food, shelter and raiment to any who know where to look, the only price being that you take no more than you need to survive."
He turns. "Surely you will respond, 'Then why are you here, druid? If nature is so grand and gold so corrupt, what are you doing in the guild?' My answer is, while mother Earth is adept at sustaining life, often she cannot defend herself against the avarice and covetousness of those seeking riches. They pillage her forests, mine her mountains, dam her rivers, and lay waste all around them. The only way I know to divert that overwhelming force is to convince it to take easy gold from my hand and save the effort and expense required to exploit the wild lands further."
"I do not judge you personally for your addiction to this glittering drug. The rot began long ago, and is too deeply rooted for most to even notice."
"Seamus," Mugun says with a tone of utter bewilderment. "I'm glad you've gotten that out of your system now so that you don't feel the need to bring it up again in front of Magistrate Rembrandt."
Turning to Garron, Mugun continues "Both of you, please. Dispense with the cynicism for just a COUPLE hours. We're in the Royal Palace, about to do a favor for the king himself! This may be a once in a lifetime opportunity for all of us. Buck up!"
Seamus shrugs and turns his gaze back to the encased feather.
Garron couldn’t help but snort derisively at Seamus as he expressed his views on gold and it’s grip on todays society. Of course, the Druid was right in a sense. Physical currency ruled the day and most likely always would. Garron Rey just didn’t care. Put a plump sack of gold in his hand and the world was right, exactly the way it should be. ”You can have your sticks and dirt, Seamus.. I’ll stick with the gold.” Banter had never been one of his strong suites. For that matter, being social at all wasn’t but this group had been around each for a while, toed the line alongside one another on multiple occasions. Even the most cold hearted adventurers fell victim to at least a slight feeling of camaraderie. Garron just wasn’t going to admit it out loud.
The assassin pushed himself from the wall and brushed past Mugun to lounge lazily on the window’s cushioned seal. ”Forgive me for not trembling in my boots with excitement because a magistrate has decided we are worthy of his presence, Mugun.” Garron dropped his hood and brushed a few strands of his dark hair out his pale face. ”Besides, I believe you are exuberant enough for us all.” He explained with a hint of a grin before looking out over the gardens below.
Inge continues scratching her shoulder laconically, trying to understand the conversation. So little made sense among these "civilized" folk.
Why would Seamus have gotten his love of nature "out of his system" as Mugun hoped? No amount of talking about it was going to take away the fact that Seamus loves nature, Mugun loves the nobility, Garron loves gold, Inge loves her ancestral teachings, Brymys seems to love books and Eilynn loves... well Inge isn't exactly sure what. Something mysterious, no doubt.
She shifts the grip on her glaive once more and closes her eyes, reaching for the wisdom of her clan elders, solid as the stone of the mountains.
"It is well we are different from each other. A mountain village does not survive if populated by only weavers or only hunters, only war chiefs or only elders, only shamans or only builders. Such is the way of nature that Seamus loves so. All things, and all people have a purpose."
Briefly, Inge seems uncertain. Was that all really true? What was her purpose here. She still wasn't exactly sure, she realizes...
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Eilynn: The picture shows a group of friends from a time before the Demon Wars. From left to right: a laughing high elf female with blonde hair and silver eyes embracing a high elf male with silver hair with golden eyes with an annoyed expression. A laughing young human male with light brown hair with his eyes closed draping his arm around a smirking young human female with black hair and blue eyes. Encircling everyone in a group-hug with a gleeful expression is a young female of an unknown race. Instead of hair, she has a plumage full of beautiful red feathers, sharp humanoid facial features, and emerald green eyes. A large six-inch plume curled backward crests atop her brow. History - 11
You're not sure who any of these people are. However, the feather Seamus is looking at looks like the one on the woman's head in the middle of the photo.
Mugun: History - 19
The signet is of "The King's Seal". Any document stamped with this seal is to be taken as if the words are directly spoken by King Ruslan.
Seamus: Nature - 13
This feather does not belong to any creature you know of, at least not in any of the regions around Dawncrest.
"Pardon, my tardiness. I was attending to a matter most dire.", says a voice with deep regal authority. All eyes turn to a slightly below average height (5'8') high elf with a slim muscular build as he enters the room and closes the door behind him. He is dressed in blueish-green robes laced with golden thread encrusted with finely cut gemstones; over a royal-red tunic. A golden circlet with a small emerald is placed upon his brow over his long silver hair. The elf's attire is not so much gaudy, (as Garron and Mugun have seen by some nobles), but more of a uniform of ruling status. His golden eyes study the party for a moment, then waves his hand. Two pillowed armchairs and a mid-size sofa are magical summon from the ether with enough comfortable seating for everyone as he makes his way to the seat behind the desk.
"I am Rembrandt, the Magistrate of Dawncrest and Supreme Archmage to High King Ruslan. I have called each of you here to...," he pauses for a moment and places a hand on his sweaty brow to steady himself. Seamus and Eilynn can see he looks exhausted. Brymys has seen this type of exhaustion before: spell fatigue. Rembrandt opens a draw his desk and produces a large blue potion and a small silver bell. With a ring, a castle servant enters with a pitcher of spiced wine and water. Goblets are filled and placed before the party along with a tray of fresh fruits and cheeses.
"Thank you, Maggie. You are too kind.", Rembrant says as he dismisses the young woman. He pours the potion into his wine and drinks deeply.
"Now, where were we? "
"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Magistrate," Mugun says, bowing in a manner appropriate to a man of Rembrandt's station. Coincidentally, the bow also serves to put directly at the Magistrate's eye-level the broach he wears, depicting the chivalric symbol of House Fonelle, a white gryphon with plum-purple wings. "I am Sir Mugun Bahbalen, at your service."
He waits for Rembrandt to sit before sitting himself, as is appropriate when dining with one's betters.
(Well geez, if everyone's doing it, so will I!)
Brymys recognizes the signs of spell fatigue on the Magistrate. He takes his time taking his seat to allow the restorative effects of the potion to take effect. In a soft tone he says "My name is Brymys Nailo. Please take your time, I know how tiring it is to expend that much magical force."
Seamus listens to the magistrate attentively, figuring the sooner they receive their assignment, the sooner he can get out of this hall of death.
Garron follows the magistrate across the room with his eyes, never leaving his seat in the window seal with arms folded. It was almost as if the assassin had a air of boredom to him. A nod was the only response Rembrandt’s introduction. Silence was best at a time like this. The quicker the magistrate got to the point of their summons the quicker Garron could vacate the premises and find some dark corner in a tavern to drink in.
Inge stops scratching her shoulder.
She remains standing, looking pointedly at the strange bag but not saying anything.
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
"Well met Sir Mugun Bahbalen, I hope your lord and his family are in good health." Rembrandt gives a respectful nod. "Brymis...," Rembrandt taps his chin thoughtfully, "Brymis Nailo, yes, I remember. You've attended one of my lectures at the Academy. I recall you were a student with quite high marks.", He then turns to Seamus, "My, my, it has been a long time since I've met a "guardian of the woods". My apologies for the accommodation, Good Shephard Seamus. Inge Stonechild, Garron Rey, and Eilynn Ravanen I extend my welcome to each of you as well."
"Now before we proceed any further, your party must sign an MNDA (Magical Non-Disclosure Agreement, Garron is all too familiar with these in assassination contracts) due to the secrecy of this quest.", Rembrandt says as he pulls out a large document scroll from his desk. "This binding contract will not allow any of you to speak about any aspect of this quest's purpose or kingdom-sensitive locations you may visit. If you try to, even unknowingly, the magic in the contract will silence you. Even writing will not work."
"All I can say before you sign is that each of you will be given a choice: to be paid in the amount of 1,000 platinum pieces or be given a Royal Boon." (A wish that can be granted by a king, some farmland with a house, royal pardon, or increased noble status)."
Rembrandt slides his pen and ink well over and points at the bottom of the paper, "Sign here on the dotted line.".